


Some Kind of Home

by MapleMooseMuffin



Series: Sheith Month 2018 [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Comfort, Day 6 - Pre-Kerberos/Post-Voltron, Domestic, Fluff, Healing, M/M, Not S7 compliant, Post-Voltron, Sheith Month, Sheith Month 2018, a mini exploration into what home really means, not exactly hurt/comfort more like group recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 10:44:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15750096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MapleMooseMuffin/pseuds/MapleMooseMuffin
Summary: Out in the desert, under the warm rays of the rising sun, a family rebuilds their home.---In a few hours they’ll be back out there, slathered in sunblock and hammering away at the frame of the neighboring house. The project is slow-going – there’s only so much that can be done at a time by five hands in the midst of the desert heat – but it’s satisfying. Something to work for, now that their jobs are done.





	Some Kind of Home

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone. Let's start by saying I haven't watched season 7 yet, so please don't spoil me! This fic was started for Sheith Month's 6th prompt, Pre-Kerberos//Post-Voltron, and I chose Post-Voltron because we were just coming off of season 6 and I already wrote pre-kerb for my day one prompt. 
> 
> The title was unintentionally taken from [Thriving Ivory's Some Kind of Home](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ROtjMo6LL3w), which doesn't exactly fit this fic but definitely fits sheith. I hadn't listened to the song in years until after I wrote this, and in a way the nostalgia is a sort of homecoming in and of itself. 
> 
> This one is a little more stream of conscious than usual, but I hope you'll like it none the less.
> 
> Enjoy~

            The desert smells just the same as it did years ago – seven years for Keith, five for Shiro, and nearly twenty-five for Krolia. Keith was amazed, when they touched down on Earth halfway through Voltron’s battle with the Galra Empire, at how fast the smell of baked sand and dry air sent him back to that year alone, how it brought the taste of canned soup and mint leaves to his tongue, as though he’d just eaten before heading out to search the caves for more carvings. The rush of sensory memory came so fast he’d turned around in search of Shiro, suddenly terrified that the four years in space had been a dream. But he was there, looking out over the patches of struggling grass and cracked earth, his hair and nose and arm promising that nothing had been a dream.

            Voltron’s stint on Earth was cut short by Sendak, who launched an attack on the Paladins’ homeworld as his first act as Emperor given the absence of Lotor. They managed to knock him back just enough to chase the Galra away from the planet, but from then on the war never let up.

            Even now, with a Voltron-positive Empress on the throne and thousands of peace treaties, Keith can’t shake the wary feeling that at any given moment, the fragile balance of the universe will break apart, and a dictator will rise again.

            But on paper, the war is over. The Blade maintains its positions across the intergalactic Galra nation, and they keep Krolia and Keith well informed of any threats, but Kolivan mercifully assigned the two of them to Earth. So long as they send him status updates every few weeks, they can finally have some semblance of rest.

            The Garrison, on the other hand, took a lot of convincing before they could accept the presence of alien tech, let alone alien _life_ , in their vicinity without extensive and invasive study. Thankfully Commander Holt has a large sway in the scientific on goings of the base, and Shiro has always had a way of getting Iverson to let things slide. Coran’s enthusiasm for explaining Altean culture certainly helps, too.

            It’s been a few months, but things have settled, somehow. The Garrison offered them all positions, as part of their compromise, and some of the team signed on, but Keith can’t bring himself to go back. Not after the Kerberos crash. Not after Voltron.

            Instead, he rebuilds. He takes Krolia and Shiro out into the sands, and together they pick up where he left off in that empty year. They sweep out the dust that’s blown into the shack in the years since he last saw it, while the wolf hunts down the lizards and snakes that decided to requisition the place for themselves. The shack is only two rooms, the main room and the bathroom, but the generator still works, as does the standing fan Keith kept by the coffee table. Keith tries to make Shiro take the couch, but Shiro insists Keith should sleep on it instead, and in the end, Krolia forces both of them onto their newly purchased air mattress and takes the couch for herself with a fond shake of the head.

            The weeks that follow are steeped in hard work and careful planning. It’s comforting. Cathartic. The therapist Keith’s government compensation pays for says it’s good for his healing process, and he’s inclined to agree.

            Waking up to the sun rising over the desert is not new. Waking up to the sun catching in Shiro’s white hair is. Keith rubs his eyes without sitting up and just stares, taking in the way the sun – their sun – softly runs its fingers through Shiro’s hair. It’s soothing, and calming. Incentive to stay put, rather than rush into the day. For once, he’ll let himself indulge.

            The war is over. He tells himself that every morning as he takes in the crisp, early air with steady breaths and tries to remember what it’s like to not fear it could be his last. The only alarms that blare are on their phones, set to make sure they don’t miss breakfast, and the blade he shines each night is used to fight anxiety more than anything else.

            Relaxation was never his strong suit. At one point, during his first year at the Garrison, an instructor pulled him aside and gently warned him of the dangers of over exercising, because whenever he found downtime between classes and homework he headed for the sims or the gym. Keith’s concept of letting go has always been physical, fueled by a constant pilot light burning through his veins. Maybe that’s the Galra way, something evolved out of desperation, or maybe it’s a hyperactivity disorder that no one managed to catch. The idea of sitting still and taking it easy, as Lance might say, was never one he understood. But now, warm under the thin sheet and curled up close enough to feel the steady rise and fall of Shiro’s chest, he’s starting to get it.

            Life post-war is slow. It’s hard, with the heavy weight of trauma that clings to each of their skins, but there’s a quiet when the echoes subside that Keith hasn’t heard since he was a child. “It’s peace,” his mother said one night, a few weeks in. Her eyes were distant, only half seeing the empty space where his home – their home – used to stand. The word was fragile in her mouth, delicate in the air, and he knew she didn’t trust it, either.

            He holds it close, guards the feeling of serenity that wells up in his chest while he watches the soft part of Shiro’s lips, the gentle slope of his brows. They fought tooth and nail and arm and leg for this. For every life across the universe, including theirs. They’ve earned these simple pleasures.

            The sun sneaks its way higher into the sky as Keith muses, drowsy and warm. In a few hours they’ll be back out there, slathered in sunblock and hammering away at the frame of the neighboring house. The project is slow-going – there’s only so much that can be done at a time by five hands in the midst of the desert heat – but it’s satisfying. Something to work for, now that their jobs are done.

            He shifts, settling one arm more comfortably under the pillow, shifting his blade just so, and moves the other carefully up and across Shiro’s sleeping chest. Enough to feel him without disturbing his rest. It used to be Keith who was always the later to rise of the two of them, and often times he still is, but as the weeks on Earth have rolled by and the dedicated therapy sessions have started to make their mark, Shiro’s begun to make up for the drought of sleep that plagued the past few years. Keith is infinitely proud of him.

            It isn’t until he hears the soft creak of the old couch that he realizes he isn’t the only one awake.

            Looking up, Keith sees Krolia sitting in the corner seat, the wolf’s sleeping form at her feet. She’s scrolling through her feed on the little orange projected screen of her phone, but she must have been watching him, too, because her eyes flick to meet his for a moment. Her smile is thin and small, tucked into the corner of her mouth, the same way his does. Shiro’s always said it looks like a secret little promise. Keith can kind of see it.

            Slowly he pushes himself to sit up, and winces when Shiro makes a soft sound at the movement of the mattress. Keith searches his face, but it’s still soft, and his breathing is still slow and even, so he must not have woken up. That’s good.

            “I was wondering what to do for breakfast,” Krolia says softly. Keith looks back at her and sees the reflection of pancake recipes through the projection of her screen. Hunk probably has more cooking skill in his pinkie toe than the three of them combined, but homemade breakfast with his mother still sounds like a dream, even after months of it. In some ways it is.

            “I can help,” he tells her. His voice is scratchy with sleep, still, and probably dehydration, so he pours himself a glass of water from the pitcher they keep on the table. Shiro put slices of cucumber in it the night before. Keith isn’t complaining.

            Krolia picks out a recipe she thinks she can do with their outdoor cooking set up and shows it to him for confirmation. The wolf wakes up and pads over to slump beside him instead, nuzzling against his arm as he tries to read over the directions. Keith laughs and gives in to the demands for pets, rubbing those deep blue ears until the animal sighs, content, and drops his head to drool in Keith’s lap. Idly he runs his hands through its mane.

            Krolia walks over to the fan and turns it on. Keith sets her phone on the table.

            “So what do you think?” she asks.

            “We can probably figure it out.”

            Krolia nods and folds her arms across her chest. “We have the ingredients. I just don’t remember the process. It’s been a long time since your father taught me how.”

            Keith’s seen it, or references to it. On the back of the space whale, in the midst of white flashes. His parents in the kitchen, coated in batter; his father laughing, saying something like, “Don’t worry about it, Darlin’.” Sometimes it’s the little, insignificant memories that sting the most.

            “We’ll figure it out,” he says again, quieter. There’s more to rebuilding than putting up the new frame.

            “Figure what out,” the sheets mumble. Keith grins. Not just the tiny, corner secret smile, but a fully stretched head ducking grin that can’t be stopped anymore than he can. There’s a shuffle and then the sheet rolls back to Shiro’s waist as he pushes himself up to sit. The way his hair sticks up in the back makes Keith’s heart flip even as he laughs.

            “You’re adorable,” he whispers. Shiro misses it.

            “I want to make pancakes,” Krolia answers. Shiro leans against the coffee table and turns his head to her, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

            “Yeah? That sounds nice. Let me help.”

            “We can all help,” Keith says. The wolf thumps his tail against the floor, as though agreeing.

            “You just want to lick the spoon,” Shiro hums. He reaches over and rubs the wolf’s head, earning a lick to his wrist, and Keith isn’t sure who that comment was aimed at.

            “He can lick whatever he wants. He’s going to do it anyway,” Krolia says as she moves around the coffee table. The wolf thumps his tail again and raises his head for her to pat him as well when she moves past, heading for the bathroom.

            When the door closes, Shiro gives him a look. “Well?”

            Keith huffs and pushes at his good shoulder. “She was talking about the wolf.”

            “Sure, sure,” Shiro says, tilting his head so the sunlight gleams in the corners of his eyes.

            Keith feels the longing ache of falling in love pull through his chest. It’s an echo that comes back time and time again, reverberating in his chest whenever Shiro is near, and it lights an urgent little flare in him that surges up until he’s cupping Shiro’s face and tracing his thumb over the tail end of that scar. Shiro’s eyes go soft just before he leans in for the kiss.

            These few months in the desert have taught him a lot about building a home. It takes work, and devotion, and a lot of time and collaboration. But most importantly, every home must be built on a solid foundation. Outside, a few hundred yards from this shack, they’ve lain out a massive slab of concrete, carefully poured into the shape and mold they want for the house.

             As they break the kiss, and Shiro raises his hand to trace the comet-trail scar on Keith’s face, as Krolia comes back into the room and sets her hands on her hips until the wolf wheedles more pets out of her by headbutting her thigh, Keith smiles. Every home needs a solid foundation. This is theirs.

**Author's Note:**

> In a way, this little piece was cathartic for me, too. July and August have really been hell months for me, and I'm still in the recovery process. That's why this is posted more than a month late, with more belated Sheith Month prompts to follow. Thank you all for your patience and support, you've been very kind. 
> 
> You can [reblog](http://maple-moose-muffin.tumblr.com/post/177220503480/some-kind-of-home) this story, and follow me on [tumblr](http://maple-moose-muffin.tumblr.com/) if you like. I'm still on a bit of a hiatus until I watch season 7, but I pop in from time to time, and always answer my asks. Come say hi!
> 
> Hopefully more from me soon. Take care.~


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